


Unexpected Warmth

by Carpe Natem (Demeanor)



Series: Twelve Days of Solstice [8]
Category: Darkest Dungeon (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Body Dysphoria, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Hot Springs & Onsen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Winter fic, body image issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:47:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28308507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demeanor/pseuds/Carpe%20Natem
Summary: After a life wrought with necessary violence and holy bloodshed, Baldwin simply wants to lay down his sword and rest his weary bones, perhaps forever.Unfortunately, a certain someone has other ideas. With the help of his precious fool, a once-beloved king comes to terms with how far he’s fallen, then again with how far he’s risen.
Relationships: Jester/Leper (Darkest Dungeon)
Series: Twelve Days of Solstice [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2057325
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	Unexpected Warmth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WigglyBlue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WigglyBlue/gifts).



> I hope this is the Lester you were looking for, Blue. I added a bit of smut, because there is very much Not Enough smut for these two, but I also really wanted to develop their emotional connection.
> 
> I'm so in love with these two, Lester really is a comfort couple for me, so I appreciate us venting back and forth about them. Anyway, Merry Christmas, and enjoy!

**Unexpected Warmth**

Baldwin was confused.

Confused and  _ exhausted _ . He and the others had just returned from the cove which, in the harsh winter, was worse than Baldwin could ever have imagined it to be otherwise. It wasn’t enough that the salt-slicked walls crawled with sea maggots and held a dank humidity that nearly drowned them in its gravity. Now, the brine in the air felt brittle, penetrating,  _ painfully  _ frigid in the crisp chill that assaulted his bandaged limbs as he struggled to keep alive in his numbness.

That chill ran down to Baldwin’s very bones and he couldn’t seem to rid himself of it.

All he wanted to do now was head to his chambers within the sanitarium, tiny and bleak in the winter, like his own icebox meant to preserve him. At the very least, it was separate from the others and gave Baldwin the privacy to unwrap his bandages and attempt to work the ever-present numbness from his hands and feet, made worse in the winter.

Numbness was a matter of his condition, the leprosy having mostly rotted out his weaker nerve endings by now. No, to Baldwin, the ice and the frost and the unforgiving, unrelenting  _ chill  _ was far worse than any pain or insensitivity his leprosy brought upon him, instead feeling almost as if his body was awakening from a long slumber. Pin pricks covered him from head to toe, agonizing and incessant, like his skin was being shaken awake -- he remembered the discomfort even a holy king could not avoid when the pins and needles struck a sleeping limb from sitting atop a throne too long.

Only, in this case, those limbs never woke up refreshed and ready to function anew and instead, whatever feeling did return brought with it an agonizing ice in his veins.

As such, Baldwin couldn’t help but feel an unfamiliar impatience with Sarmenti, who stood before him garbed in his motley, mildewed cloth, bells ringing softly as he tapped his foot and glared through his mask.

“Do I need to  _ drag  _ His Royal Highness as if he were a stubborn mule or will he accompany his fool willingly?” 

“Sarmenti -- ” Baldwin paused, hearing the royal bite in his own voice bleeding in from his foul mood, and adjusted himself accordingly. The expedition ending horribly, painfully, and his own aching body was in no part Sarmenti’s fault, and Baldwin instantly regretted his harsh tone when he saw the Jester back up half a step. Away from him, and Baldwin  _ hated  _ that even more so than the pain or the cold. 

Sighing tiredly, Baldwin spread his hands in an open way, not reaching for the clown but willing him closer and Sarmenti relented, stepping into Baldwin’s embrace. He felt the man’s thin arms circle him and he hummed, momentarily content. Not a day passed with Sarmenti that he didn’t thank the eternal Flame for blessing him with Paracelsus and her tinctures, concoctions and experiments that didn’t  _ cure  _ him of his disease, but kept it from spreading to those he cared for.

“Rough outing?” Sarmenti murmured to the bloodied shroud at Baldwin’s chest.

Baldwin merely nodded and pulled him closer, letting his irritation melt from him in a way that nothing else managed to compare to than when Sarmenti was pressed to him; even letting his mask down didn’t hold a candle to the relief Baldwin felt with his Jester in his arms.

“All the more reason to accompany me, then.” The response wasn’t demanding or chiding, nor even playful or teasing which surprised Baldwin, but it was insistent.

_ Pleading _ , almost.

“I wish to rest my weary bones, Light of mine,” spoke Baldwin, smiling at how Sarmenti would always squirm at the nickname, but never contest it. They had been this way for months or perhaps even a year, but it felt like far longer to the likes of Baldwin, who counted each passing week by enemies killed or scar earned -- whether from Eldritch horrors or his own dying body. Stuck between life and death, unwelcomed from either side of the scale, it seemed to stretch time to him, making every moment of happiness a bright contrast in Baldwin’s otherwise bleak life. “Can’t this wait until next week?” 

“ _ No _ ,” Sarmenti stood surprisingly firm when he was normally flexible on these matters. “No, it can’t.”

Unsure of what to say at first, Baldwin just rumbled a low laugh and enjoyed the much needed intimacy between them, shaky on his feet and filthy as the Leper was from the cove. His body was trembling with both the cold and exhaustion, the bandages doing little to stymie the chill air lacing deep into his veins. Sarmenti seemed to sense it, tugging him closer, and yet still he persisted; whatever was bothering the smaller man must have been important.

Who was Baldwin to deny him?

“Then I suppose my cell will have to wait a bit longer.” 

…

Hours later, with the sun canting from the midway point in the sky and towards the horizon, doing nothing to stave off the cold, they were finally into the weald.

Baldwin was on edge immediately, still stressed and sore from the cove and bewildered at what Sarmenti could be leading him towards so far from the Hamlet. He trusted the Jester, of course he did, but sometimes the extremes his other half would deign to run at surprised even Baldwin. 

“Are we getting close, Sarmenti?” Baldwin tried not to sound too skeptical, but clearly Sarmenti saw through that by the way he stiffened. Sarmenti carried a large pack on his thin shoulders, bulky with its contents and clearly a burden on the fool whose back was pinched with the strain of it. Baldwin could only speculate on what the Jester deemed important enough to heft into the heart of the weald, but knew he wouldn’t get a straight answer if he asked. “I don’t want the two of us getting caught out here at night.”

“ _ ‘Close’ _ is a matter of opinion, dear Baldwin,” he responded matter-of-fact.

“And what of  _ your  _ opinion on the matter?”

Sarmenti shrugged with a great effort beneath the pack, glancing behind him at Baldwin following faithfully, then swung his bells back around to avoid running into the myriad of trees surrounding them; they didn’t seem to be on a forged path of any sort. “ _ My  _ opinion is irrelevant. We’ll get there or we won’t -- only time will tell.”

With a sigh, not quite favoring the obtuse answer he received but barely surprised by it, Baldwin ventured, “At least let me carry your pack. It appears rather cumbersome on you.”

A derisive snort at that. “I thought you wanted to rest your weary bones.”

Baldwin huffed a laugh, the familiar weight of his broken blade hung heavy on his shoulders as they walked on, sheets of snow and frost covering every inch of the mushroom forest. It did nothing for his mood, though Baldwin couldn’t help but smile at Sarmenti’s determination; nothing stood in the way of an avalanche, after all, and his Jester was an unstoppable force when he cared to be. Still, he couldn’t stop from teasing the other man at least a little bit to assuage his strange impatience at being out in the cold, an impatience he hadn’t felt since the year before. “I had designs to, until some little songbird told me otherwise.”

With a wicked  _ slice  _ of his scythe, Sarmenti cut past some dead overgrowth of foliage, spewing snow from the brambles and kicking it to the side. Baldwin noticed the way Sarmenti would slash the hanging vines and branches over his head, saving the Leper from having to constantly bend down to avoid them, and felt his heart  _ clench  _ at the unprompted gesture. 

The smaller man always seemed quick to cosset Baldwin, those knifelike eyes, brown and biting like dried blood on a weathered blade, they watched him without fail, watched for his limp, for his sagging shoulders or downturned frown. They were sharp as sickles, quick to see all the things Baldwin had eventually learned not to hide from Sarmenti, fruitless that Baldwin’s attempts had been anyway. Those eyes watched for the moment Baldwin would push himself too hard, despite Baldwin's hesitance to put his needs to words. 

Most of the Hamlet saw Baldwin's might and brawn and assumed him  _ infallible  _ \-- Sarmenti had known better from the start. 

Over time, Baldwin had to learn not to hide his flaws, his shortcomings, his fading vision and waning strength from the Jester, despite his natural inclination to do so. Sarmenti made him want to be stronger than he was,  _ better _ , and if not to make amends for Sarmenti's past under the punishing hand of a cruel master then merely because Sarmenti deserved it.

With the clown's normal sensitivity to Baldwin's growing aches and pains, made even worse with the constricting cold, Baldwin was more than a little surprised at Sarmenti’s insistence on coming out here  _ now _ . 

Whatever it was, clearly it was important to his fool of a man.

"Well,  _ perhaps _ this little songbird knows what's best for you," Sarmenti huffed between swipes of his blade. "Perhaps you could  _ trust  _ the fool bird."

Baldwin laughed, a deep, exhausted sound. "I trust him with my life, in fact."

If Sarmenti was flattered or embarrassed or even  _ irritated  _ with such praise, he didn’t show it, opting to keep his back turned and his blade moving, but the silence alone spoke volumes. 

…

Between the few monsters they encountered and the occasional backtracking they had to do, it took what seemed like hours of trekking through the frost and sludge of the weald, far from the beaten path of the Old Road. Baldwin was growing weary, exhausted, and  _ frustrated _ .

His mettle and patience alike were tested when Baldwin heard the telltale  _ crack  _ of ice beneath Sarmenti’s feet, who normally would have pranced away at the first sign of a trap elegantly, but was weighed down with the massive pack. Acting on instinct and ferocity alone, Baldwin yanked Sarmenti up by the backpack as if snatching a misbehaved kitten and dragged them both away from the pitfall of thin ice at the last moment. 

The ground where the Jester had just been standing was now a crumbling cave-in to a deep cavern of spiky stalagmites below. 

Baldwin was at his limit now, emotionally and physically so, anger boiling within his hollowed-out bones that he grit between his teeth to keep from loosening his words at his beloved clown, so careless with his own precious life at times. “The storm infuriates the sea, little fool.”

" _ Right _ ," Sarmenti breathed through his mask, voice hitched in playful panic only Sarmenti seemed capable of. "No dying on His Majesty's watch. How could I forget?"

For as long as he could, Baldwin carried both Sarmenti and the pack bundled in his large arms. It might have been presumptive or demeaning under different circumstances, and potentially opened them up to an ambush without either man at the ready, but Baldwin was feeling less and less like himself as the day dragged on, less  _ anchored _ . Having his silly fool in his arms helped to steady him, until Sarmenti inevitably became too much to hold, like trying to bottle a hurricane, and squirmed from Baldwin's grasp. 

That was fine, as even Baldwin's arms grew weary from the expedition, the long night prior on the road, and being unable to fully rest upon arriving back at the Hamlet where Sarmenti instantly bounded up to him. Luckily, they drove on without any further incidents until:

“I need a rest, Sarmenti,” Baldwin breathed through the sweat forming beneath his mask, trailing down his jaw and chilling on his neck. 

He had  _ tried  _ to stay strong, to stay upright and be Sarmenti’s stalwart, but his energy was ebbing like a drying river, once powerful and destructive, now but a lowly trickle of its former self until even the backpack became too much to bear. The frustrating reminder of his weakening body was always there, gnawing at Baldwin's mind. Nights were especially hard when he didn’t have the Jester at his side to distract him with song and limerick, joke and insult, touch and taste. The end of his days floated just outside the peripherals of his consciousness, lurking, waiting to be seen and made to drag Baldwin low into the mud and force the Leper to feel small. 

Really, he wanted nothing more than to follow Sarmenti to the ends of the earth, if the Jester would have him, but his back bent beneath the sword, his knees ached, his limbs froze and stung in that irritating way. Nothing as painful as a spear through the arm, nor as crippling as a tree trunk smackdown to the chest, but a maddening itch that couldn’t be scratched.

Sarmenti was on him in a moment, reaching up to help Baldwin lower his sword and the heavy pack, his cloth mask outlined with an uncharacteristically serious expression.

“I’m  _ sorry  _ \-- ” Baldwin began, but Sarmenti cut him off with a terse hiss of laughter.

“My dear Baldwin, only a  _ fool  _ apologizes for nothing,” snipped the smaller man, running his spidery hands up and down Baldwin’s bandaged biceps, as if to warm them, despite his own small frame shivering. “Believe me, I should know. Or so I’m told, anyway.”

Baldwin breathed a laugh, seeing his precious air fog hotly between them, and had the familiar urge to bring the clown close and hold him there until the snow melted and Baldwin’s bones eventually warmed. Knowing Sarmenti, he’d never allow it, unable to go more than a few moments without wriggling in Baldwin’s embrace. “I beg pardon. I’d hate to take your title, then.”

The cloth mask puffed when Sarmenti snorted, rolled his rust-darkened eyes, and came closer anyway. Baldwin held him firmly, and smiled when Sarmenti softly murmured, “ **_I’m_ ** sorry.”

“For?”

“Dragging you out here,” Sarmenti glared up at him, as if irritated that he had to explain himself, but it did nothing to deter Baldwin’s contented smile. “Getting turned around,” he continued, hands still clutched at Baldwin’s biceps, just above most of his scarring. Just above where the sweet sensations began to taper off -- the Jester always knew where Baldwin was most and least sensitive, and used them to his fancy. Then, quieter, against Baldwin’s golden cuirass, Sarmenti murmured, “For needing to do this  _ now _ .”

If not for the armor, Baldwin was sure the smaller man would have heard his heart pounding. “I’m honored to be here with you, dear one.” Sarmenti pulled back then and the cold rudely chased away his meager warmth.

“Good. Because we’re  _ here _ ,” Sarmenti announced with a grin outlined in his mask.

…

As it turned out,  _ ‘here’  _ was a small, heated oasis hidden within the confines of a natural rock formation at the bottom of a gentle slope, deep into the Weald. Shallow pools were tucked away among frost-covered pines and firs which grew in a way that obscured the steaming basins, giving the entire glen a surreal, idyllic atmosphere. 

Baldwin could feel the humid warmth radiating from the little pools from where he stood above them, fogging his mask, and the air was tinged with the smell of salts and sulfur. 

His fool stood before him, gesturing down to the secluded springs, his clown mask mapped with anxious impatience as Sarmenti waited for Baldwin to speak. To sing his praises, or perhaps curse his whimsy, but Baldwin was stunned beyond words and instead carefully made his way down to the bottom of the slope for a closer look. Sarmenti followed him, lithe body nimble and agile compared to the Leper’s own slower descent down the icy hill, and the moment he reached the bottom, Baldwin instantly felt… warm. 

Wonderfully, blissfully  _ warm _ .

The rocks underfoot melted the snow in a small vicinity around them, filling the basin with a mix of natural spring water and liquified ice, tempering how hot the water seemed to be. 

A moment later, Sarmenti reached the bottom of the hill after and Baldwin automatically held out his hand to bear some of the clown’s meager weight, then, voice laced with marveling awe, asked, “How did you happen upon this place, Sarmenti?”

Sarmenti merely scoffed and shrugged, as if he hadn’t just taken Baldwin’s breath away with this secret gem in the wastes of the weald. “The same way I happen upon most things,” the Jester answered matter-of-factly, too busy crouching down to dig within the pack to continue ogling the hot springs like Baldwin still was. “ _ Carelessly _ . Now wait here while I set up the traps Dismas negligently let me pilfer from him.”

At that, the clown pulled out a long strand of rope and bells which Baldwin recognized to be Dismas’ bandit trap to prevent nighttime ambushes, and below that appeared to be… camping supplies. Sarmenti meant to spend the night out here, it seemed, and Baldwin felt something soft welling up within his chest at his fool’s thoughtfulness.

It wasn’t  _ often  _ that Sarmenti gave his plans much forethought, so Baldwin was touched.

Before Sarmenti disappeared into the treeline, he turned towards the Leper still towering there, dumbfounded and distracted, and called out, “By the time I’m back, you’d best be far better dressed than you are now. That is to say,  _ undressed _ .”

Baldwin felt himself flush beneath his mask, huffing in embarrassment at Sarmenti’s constant  _ candid  _ way of speaking about such things, the impropriety of the smaller man always taking Baldwin by surprise despite their many months together. Obediently, Baldwin began to shed his equipment, piece by piece, reluctantly at first in the off-chance he would need to defend himself or his Jester, but fearing Sarmenti’s ire if Baldwin wasn’t armorless upon his return. 

He folded his white shroud neatly and set it on one of the drier rocks, then came Baldwin’s faulds and cuirass and underleathers. With each piece of equipment being shed, the brisk air nipped at Baldwin’s disrobed body, the gauze wrappings doing nothing to keep the cold at bay. He shivered, glad for the warmth of the hot springs melting the nearby snow. 

When Sarmenti eventually returned, Jester bells announcing his presence, Baldwin stood nearly naked save for his mask and bandages. 

Despite being the one to order Baldwin to undress, Sarmenti still froze at the sight, eyes wide behind the white cloth as they traveled down the length of Baldwin’s quivering body, then back up to his still-concealed face. Baldwin swallowed and shifted from foot to foot nervously, feeling under the clown’s scrutiny, exposed and unsettled by Sarmenti’s unusual silence and, with a bite of anxious restlessness, said, “My tempest finally  _ stills _ , it seems.”

Sarmenti chuckled, laughter restrained to something low and quiet as opposed to his usual hysterical bellows, as if a secret made just for Baldwin, and finally stepped close enough to run a long, slender finger down Baldwin’s broad chest.

“I’ve always dreamt of bossing around a  _ noble _ , but I never expected to find one that could take orders so well,” Sarmenti grinned up at him, a dangerous promise creasing the mask around his mouth and eyes. Baldwin just huffed in irritation, which summoned another chuckle from the smaller man, whose finger still roamed Baldwin’s body before stopping abruptly at Baldwin’s palm and hooking beneath a bandage. The mask’s white brow lifted at that, eyes flicking up to meet the Leper’s suggestively. “Though perhaps not as well as I’d like.”

Baldwin’s pulse hitched at that, at the implication in Sarmenti’s voice and finger still wagging impatiently beneath the starch gauze at his hand. 

“Sarmenti…” Baldwin whispered through the cut of the mask and through the lump of apprehension building in his throat, strangling him with worry. Thanks to Paracelsus’ tinctures, he and Sarmenti had been intimate plenty of times before now, enough to stand unequipped, exposed, all but  _ naked  _ before the Jester -- though never without his bandages. With his wrappings, Baldwin was all brawn and might, tall and broad, a modicum of decency and meager adequacy made possible with his horrible truth hidden. He was the least bit palatable whilst concealed within a facade of bandages.  _ Without  _ his wrappings, however... 

...there was nothing to hide his true nature behind.

He knew what he looked like beneath them, and Baldwin feared that Sarmenti… that his beloved fool might see him differently without his starch white veils to hide behind, that he might see Baldwin the way the rest of the world saw him.

A tense moment passed and Sarmenti seemed to understand the turmoil building within Baldwin, shamefully so. His probing finger quickly disappeared from Baldwin’s palm and, after a split moment of panic that Baldwin had ruined the flirtatious mood between them, Sarmenti straightened, stood up on his toes, and placed a gentle, chaste kiss against Baldwin’s lips. The fabric of his Jester mask was rough against Baldwin’s broken lips, but it gave hints of what lay beneath, a notion of more the way the material clung to Sarmenti’s lips and formed to the gentle curves. 

Against Baldwin’s desperate mouth, Sarmenti murmured, “I’ll turn around, if that’s what you want. But you should take your bandages off lest you ruin them in the water.”

Baldwin swallowed thickly, forcing the apprehension back down, reminding himself of who he held in his hands, of who was pressed to his scarred lips and asking for more. He trusted Sarmenti with his life, with his dignity -- he could certainly trust his precious fool with his visage, and before he could think otherwise, Baldwin gave him a permissive nod. 

Immediately,  _ eagerly _ , Sarmenti’s long fingers found Baldwin’s hands again and toyed with the beginnings of the endless, winding gauze curled around his limbs, fingering the edges and then pulling gently. On each arm, the bandage quickly loosened to Sarmenti’s insistent touch, tugging at Baldwin’s dressings as if he were some priceless artifact being uncovered, inch by inch. It was uncomfortable at first, the way Baldwin’s raw skin was suddenly exposed to the brisk air, but the longer Sarmenti unraveled him, then more Baldwin needed him to keep going, to never stop. 

For he held Baldwin’s thread and was pulling him apart at the seams.

Once Baldwin’s arms were completely exposed, Sarmenti got to work on the bandages at Baldwin’s neck and chest, taking meticulous care not to manhandle the fabric or Baldwin’s hypersensitive skin. It was intoxicating, it was  _ addictive,  _ and he was at the clown’s mercy.

Each piece that fell away was like another part of Baldwin’s armor, leaving him vulnerable and exposed in a way he had never been with anyone else before Sarmenti.

With a deep, agonizing breath, Baldwin glimpsed the bare skin of his hands and forearms, where the disease had been at its worst far before Paracelsus had managed to slow it, and squeezed his eyes shut in shame. “I long to cut away this corrupted flesh,” Baldwin whispered, feeling himself shake with the pricking behind his eyes, embarrassed at being seen so stripped of his meager defenses in the face of a loved one. “If only I were as strong as everyone believes me to be, I might be less of a monster and more of a man for you, Sarmenti.”

There was a stretched pause at that, and Baldwin feared the disgust his lover surely felt, the familiar rejection. He had never been close to anyone like this, never been as vulnerable or  _ intimate  _ with someone, and Sarmenti was precious to him in far more ways than he ever thought would be possible for the likes of him. His fool was kind and benevolent in ways no one had ever been with the authentic, maskless Baldwin, for who could ever love a leper?

Truly, he was a wretched thing.

A gentle touch at his palm shocked Baldwin out of his wallowing reverie and his eyes flew open to see Sarmenti’s pale, bare hand against his. The feeling itself was muted from Baldwin’s broken nerves, as if more of a suggestion, but he felt it straight to his  _ core  _ regardless.

Those gloveless fingers ran along Baldwin’s rough, cracked skin from his malformed hands to his forearms to his shoulders, where the sensations became crystal clear in comparison, as if a fog suddenly lifted from Baldwin’s awareness. Sarmenti laid his naked palms against Baldwin’s equally naked chest, and the Leper  _ knew  _ that Sarmenti could feel his pounding,  _ aching  _ drum of a heartbeat, rhythm lost and erratic to the heady proximity Baldwin felt. His next breath came out in more of a stutter of air as Sarmenti’s hands continued to travel across the planes of his bare body, meticulous in unwinding each and every length of bandage that the Leper had so carefully bound himself with that morning. 

Bound to his body, bound to his identity.

But Sarmenti made Baldwin feel as if he were so much  _ more  _ than his leprosy, and those pinpricks of emotion welling up in Baldwin’s light marble eyes threatened to overflow. 

Before he could lose himself to his overwhelming sentiments, now stark naked before his Jester, Baldwin heard Sarmenti huff a sad laugh, low and depreciating. “I’ve seen my fair share of monsters back at court, Baldwin,” Sarmenti mumbled, stepping away to appraise the full, unabashed undress that the Leper was in. “You couldn’t be further from one.”

With that, Sarmenti brought an alabaster hand to the collar of bells around his thin neck, and just as painstakingly slow, removed his own motley garb piece by piece. It fell around Sarmenti’s feet in a pool of red and yellow patches, of ringing bells and clinking belts, and after a breathless moment, both men stood completely bare save for their masks. Sarmenti’s thin body was a map of past hurts, all outlined in the form of pale milky scars latticed and woven together to form the Jester’s traumatic time at court.

Baldwin only saw beauty, though, his breath caught in his throat where it deprived him of air and left him dizzy, left him gaping and silent as Sarmenti drew closer with the lithe grace of a predator, despite the faint blush visible below the mask.

The fool never allowed anyone to see what was beneath the mask and live, much less his Jester garb.

As Sarmenti drew close, the crown of bells came next, falling to the rocks below with a loud applause of ringing and clamor that ended in a swell of silence. The hush was a tangible thing, blanketing them both in anticipation and promise, and slowly Sarmenti’s scarred white fingers drew up to Baldwin’s gold plated mask. Baldwin forced himself still, forced himself not to flinch and retreat as he would with anyone else who came close to his face, for Sarmenti  _ wasn’t  _ anyone else, and allowed the Jester to run the pad of his thumb along the edge of the gold plate. After a tense moment, Sarmenti finally lifted the Leper’s mask and removed it entirely.

Baldwin’s breath came out in a rush, the crisp air of the season surging to coat his sweat-slicked face, and the sensation was intoxicating, but nowhere near how  _ all-consuming  _ Sarmenti’s body heat against his was. He couldn’t even bring himself to worry about his wretched visage in the light of day before Sarmenti grabbed his hand and brought it up to his own Jester mask.

They had seen each other barefaced before, but usually in darkness and accompanied by either medical needs or in the throes of passion.

Never like  _ this _ .

Sarmenti guided Baldwin’s hand to slide under the hem of the mask, then allowed Baldwin to slowly push it up, up past Sarmenti’s shaven chin to his thin lips, split with a vicious scar that led upwards still. The cloth moved up over Sarmenti’s pointed nose, slightly crooked from a past break or two, then exposed cheekbones as sharp as the knives Sarmenti wielded. 

Those dark burnished eyes never left Baldwin’s until he moved the mask overhead with a final, gentle push of the fabric, exposing the rest of his lover’s face and freeing Sarmenti’s long auburn hair to fall around his thin shoulders. 

Without anything else to hide behind, the two men regarded one another, tense and poised. Standing uncoiled and straight for once, Sarmenti was nearly as tall as Baldwin, barely a head shorter. Baldwin let his hand linger, brushing his fingertips through the copper strands of the fool’s hair and marveled at how silken they must feel, wishing for the millionth time that his hands hadn’t been lost to his sickness. Baldwin’s eyes were another casualty of his leprosy, and Paracelsus was unable to reverse the damage to his vision, but from this close, he could see his Jester perfectly.

Sarmenti leaned in then, ever-impatient, and stood on his toes to bring their bare lips together in a dizzying kiss.

The fresh air was heaven on Baldwin’s fully exposed skin, but the clown was the earth in his arms, his very apex brought back to his focal point, and having gone so long without his center, Baldwin almost forgot what it felt like. Sarmenti made him human again, chased away his many fears at being a monster inside and out, and with much-needed clarity, Baldwin was finally balanced and whole.

Any shame or anxiety he might have felt melted away beneath Sarmenti’s hands and mouth, and before Baldwin could think to question himself, he reached down to steal the Jester’s full weight and lifted him into strong arms.

Sarmenti laughed against him, automatically wrapping his long legs in a tangle around Baldwin’s tree trunk waist, and when he returned his mouth to Baldwin’s, it was with a passion the Leper could once only dream of. His knees shook slightly as Sarmenti deepened the kiss, always quick to take the lead with his tongue against Baldwin’s, always quick to open him up and break him apart within Sarmenti’s capable hands. Those very hands now cupped at Baldwin’s wretched face, the pads of the fool’s thumbs smoothing gently over the aching cracks in Baldwin’s skin, and Baldwin was  _ weak  _ to him. 

That feeling took root in Baldwin, wrapping around his aching heart and squeezing tenderly, and he kissed Sarmenti like a prayer for which no words existed; rather, words Baldwin didn’t know how to say after most of his recent life being feared for his face alone. He reveled in it, let the overwhelming adoration wash over him, until Sarmenti huffed impatiently.

“Quit gaping like a fool and  _ touch me _ ,” Sarmenti demanded, face and chest flushed the same pink as his cock. Baldwin shivered, chuckled brokenly, then turned them and leaned Sarmenti’s thin frame against a wall of rock and held him there, happy to obey if it meant touching and pleasing the smaller man. The shift in weight allowed one of Baldwin’s hands to explore his fool’s needy body as they kissed and Sarmenti groaned in gratification.

Before his life with Sarmenti, Baldwin had never had much of a libido, whether from the disease itself that plagued him or the idea that he would be alone forever because of it, untouchable and unloveable. But now,  _ now  _ with Sarmenti naked and wanting within his arms, leaning back and gazing at Baldwin as if he were still a cherished king of men, Baldwin feared he might not ever get enough of the other hero. His freehand moved down the sharp angles of Sarmenti’s body, savoring every feeling he could register, faint as they were, while the Jester arched into the touch.

The sight alone of Sarmenti maskless, bare in every sense of the word, panting against him and rolling his hips was enough to break Baldwin. 

“Light of my life,” Baldwin moaned, bowing his height over Sarmenti as he leaned forward, bracing the clown’s back against the stones to keep them both upright as he dared to graze Sarmenti’s straining erection. “You fill me with such wanton  _ need _ , Sarmenti.”

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Sarmenti hissed back as Baldwin ran his fingers along the velvet warmth of the Jester’s manhood once more, and Baldwin shivered at how vulgar Sarmenti always became when he was wound tight with lust. The once regal king never spoke so basely as his fool, but when Sarmenti was breathless and quivering and cursing in Baldwin’s grasp, Baldwin found a certain appreciation for the obscenities. 

“I’ve been  _ desperate  _ for you since you returned from your expedition, Baldwin,” he growled, voice almost a whine. “I nearly demanded that you fucked your fool right then.”

Despite being the one holding them both up, Baldwin felt helpless, felt completely at Sarmenti’s whim who squirmed in the Leper’s grasp until their hips met, until their groins were parallel and both men cried out at the contact. Baldwin was momentarily unhinged as he watched,  _ felt _ ,  **_lost himself_ ** to Sarmenti gliding their cocks together with a thrust of his slim hips.

“ _ Gods above _ ,” breathed Baldwin, grip bruising on Sarmenti’s skin, and he forced himself to loosen it lest he hurt his lover by accident. Sarmenti didn’t seem to notice and merely bucked upwards again, head back to expose a long, pale throat. “I might have, had you asked like that.”

The clown  _ knew  _ the effect his filthy mouth had on Baldwin, and seemed to secretly  _ revel  _ in the power he held with his licentious words that spun such carnal desires in Baldwin’s hyper-receptive mind. Baldwin had always possessed an active imagination, so hearing Sarmenti whisper all the ways he wanted the Leper to take him, to make love to him and to  _ fuck  _ him beyond words, it slicked the tip of Baldwin’s erection with aching need. 

Bare face grinning madly, Sarmenti rocked his hips and purred, “Light be  _ damned _ , but that would be an unforgettable performance,  **_sire_ ** .” 

Baldwin shook, mouth open, prick leaking -- they both  _ hated  _ when Sarmenti treated them as anything but equals, yet somehow it felt ungodly sensual in the vivid heat of their intense rutting. Sarmenti was trapped between the wall of stone that hid away the hot springs and the wall that was  _ Baldwin _ , his strong muscles taut with fervid need, and Sarmenti’s long legs seemed to pull Baldwin even closer as they ground themselves together. His flexible, lanky body was nearly bent in half to press their sweat-glossed skin as near as possible. 

Upon realizing he had rendered Baldwin speechless, Sarmenti merely grinned and arched up, one hand pulling Baldwin’s neck down in a passionate kiss, the other clasping their pulsing members close. 

Overwhelmed, Baldwin cried out into the kiss, body jerking forcefully from his fool’s all-consuming touch, the underside of his cockhead glistening with his need as it slid against Sarmenti’s. The Jester took the opportunity to lick his way into Baldwin’s open mouth, assaulting the taller man mercilessly,  _ wondrously _ , with both palm and tongue alike, blanking Baldwin’s mind to anything that wasn’t  _ SarmentiSarmenti _ **_Sarmenti._ **

They stayed like that, lost to their passion, the circling steam of the hot springs keeping them warm enough that their bodies glistened with sweat, tongues tangled and groins aching. 

“ -- couldn’t wait,” Sarmenti mewled desperately between open mouth kisses, his long fingers unable to wrap around them both entirely but still managing to simultaneously stroke the length of them. His thumb ran along their tips with each upstroke, wiping at the urgency that steadily gathered there and coating both of their pulsing shafts for a slicker movement, up and down. The rhythm was erratic between Sarmenti’s clenched hand and his jerking hips, but Baldwin did everything he could to meet it, feeling the familiar mindless pressure building at his apex. “ -- needed this,  _ needed you _ \-- ”

Sarmenti continued to moan filth into Baldwin’s waiting mouth, savoring each and every word as it shot straight to his core, then throbbed obscenely in Sarmenti’s relentless hand, bringing Baldwin closer and closer with each jerk, each thrust, each flick of his wicked tongue. 

Eventually, Baldwin quickly moved his hand from Sarmenti’s jutting hip bone and grasped the base of their cocks firmly,  _ frantically _ , stilling Sarmenti’s maddening strokes and holding them both just on the cusp of oblivion. His breath left his chest by the lungfuls as Baldwin tried to steady himself, tried to back himself away from his looming orgasm, embarrassed by how little it had taken to get him there already. 

“S-Sarmenti…” Baldwin groaned, closing his eyes to block out the illicit sight of the Jester’s body tangled with his own, pale chest heaving with the warning of his fool’s climax.

To no avail. The sight of it was surely burned into Baldwin’s mind for as long as he lived. 

Baldwin wanted to do all the things and more that his lover whispered in the shell of Baldwin’s ear, promises to give and take, to fuck and to  _ be  _ fucked, to love, to be made whole and to be undone again. For as long as the smaller man would have him. Sarmenti always  _ knew  _ just how to unthread the Leper, always knew just how to make him reach his limit then catch him with tender hands and loving words as he fell from the cliffs of ecstasy. Baldwin wanted that more than anything in this moment, wanted to let himself release and let Sarmenti hold him as he came down, but couldn’t, not  _ yet _ . 

Not without fulfilling all of Sarmenti’s demands first. 

“If you keep going…” continued the broader man, hand at their shafts shaking with the force of catching the object of his passions in his palm and stilling it before it was too late. “I -- I won’t be able to give you everything you want -- ”

Sarmenti scoffed and pulled back enough to rest his forehead against Baldwin’s, and Baldwin’s cloudy eyes fluttered open at the movement. 

“You truly are a  _ fool _ , Baldwin,” the Jester murmured tenderly, voice fond despite his words. The hand not currently cradling their aching cocks moved from Baldwin’s neck to his face, running along the planes of his once-regal cheekbones that the fallen king now tried desperately to hide from the world. But he wouldn’t hide them from Sarmenti, not with his heart bursting to full. “We have all the time in the world to do everything. What I want right now _ is for you to cum for me. _ ”

Baldwin’s breath caught, his resolve slipped, and their hands moved in a more demanding intent. With Sarmenti goading him on, with their hands laced and their bodies intertwined and their breaths mixing, Baldwin couldn’t last much longer,  _ didn’t  _ last much longer. As Sarmenti jerked him into the rush of his mounting orgasm, the clown leaned up and captured Baldwin’s slack mouth in a much-needed kiss.

That pressure built and bowed, then suddenly broke. 

His hips jolted upward into Sarmenti’s slick palm and with a gutteral shout, Baldwin lost himself to the searing pleasure. The world shattered behind his eyes and was made anew a hundred times over and in every single one, Sarmenti called his name in return, kissed him down from his heady peaks, looked upon Baldwin with those liquid dark eyes. 

Those eyes that were filled with something heated, something loving, something that accepted Baldwin for all his endless monstrosities inside and out. 

Eternities later, Baldwin began to unwind, his whole body aching from how coiled taut it had been, and he could feel the mess he made -- the mess  _ Sarmenti  _ had made, really -- coating them both. Despite his overwhelming bliss, Baldwin knew he needed to take care of his fool, who still writhed and whimpered in his arms, and let go of his own spent prick to give the entirety of his focus to Sarmenti. It didn’t take long, pent up as the smaller man was, and Baldwin returned the sweet whispers against Sarmenti’s scarred lips in full as he pumped the throbbing length of Sarmenti’s cock, head to hilt. 

As much as Baldwin loved the feeling of reaching that ultimate euphoria at the hand of his precious Jester,  _ nothing  _ in this life or the next could compare to witnessing Sarmenti fall apart in Baldwin’s arms. 

Sarmenti broke just as fully as Baldwin had, the tremors in his narrow thighs and concave stomach accumulating in a full-body clench as he shouted the Leper’s name, grasped at Baldwin’s arms blindly, arched into each stroke. The harsh, beautiful contours of jutting bones and thin muscles throughout Sarmenti’s body were outlined with the tension of his climax, wave after wave of it, each curl of his orgasm jolting his hips into Baldwin’s palm. A moment later and Baldwin’s hand and stomach were coated in Sarmenti’s release. 

They came down together, mind and vision swimming, reality blurred into one. 

Gentle kisses fell across Baldwin’s neck and shoulders like stars in the darkness of his blissful exhaustion,  _ anchoring  _ him to reality as he floated just beyond consciousness. Baldwin kissed Sarmenti’s sweaty forehead in return, taking yet another moment to appreciate his maskless fool, face and body bare to him, Sarmenti’s normally endless well of anxious energy stilled. As he savored the moment, Baldwin felt his heart twist achingly from how madly in  _ love  _ he was with the Jester, and in his reverie, nearly said as much but quickly stopped himself. 

_ It was too much _ , Baldwin scolded himself, yet when he tried to set Sarmenti back down to earth, the silly clown refused and clung to Baldwin tighter. 

“Leg’s asleep,” Sarmenti murmured exhaustedly. “Your fault.”

The Leper merely chuckled against Sarmenti’s damp hair, kissing his temple absently before pulling them both away from the stone wall of the glen and heading towards the hot spring pools, mindful of the slippery rocks. They were both exhausted, energy sapped from their spontaneous lovemaking, and when Baldwin glanced down, he grimaced at the mix of cum coating them both. 

Hopefully the pool of water would cleanse them of the sticky gobs glossing across their stomachs and chests, Baldwin mused, and took the first step into the water, then gasped -- it was shocking,  _ tingling _ , even for a man with blunted nerve endings in his toes. 

The water wasn’t  _ scalding _ , thanks to the snow and ice it naturally mixed with, but it was far hotter than anything that could be found at the Hamlet since the start of the winter, and it coated Baldwin’s naked body in goosebumps. Another step forward and the air left Baldwin’s lungs as he submerged himself up to his calves, his entire body responding viscerally in a way it hadn’t since the leprosy carved out his nerves years ago. It was… stunning.  _ Devastating _ . It flooded Baldwin with sensations and memories and precious, addictive  _ life  _ within his deadening body, and it compelled him deeper within it. 

The pool itself was shallow, and the hot water licked at his messy abdomen once Baldwin was at the heart of it, and with a steadying breath, he slowly lowered them both.

Sarmenti hissed when his bare skin first sunk into the spring, but Baldwin could feel as his naked Jester gradually relaxed, muscle by muscle, and became limp yet again in Baldwin’s strong arms. They plunged in together in a measure of inches, slowly to adjust to the bracing heat, and eventually sighed happily against one another after Baldwin settled them onto the warm stones, with Sarmenti still perched in his lap. 

Minutes passed in silence as the two men basked in each others’ presence, and after a long day, a long  _ existence _ , Baldwin felt his body unwinding like the petals to Sarmenti’s springtime. They were up to their collarbones in the still water but they might as well have been afloat in some abstract dream, surreal and all-consuming. 

They were enveloped in each other, enveloped in the moment and in the steam bubbling them from the rest of the terrible world.

As Sarmenti leaned his head forward to tiredly rest it on Baldwin’s shoulder, his long, messy auburn hair trailing the surface of the water, Baldwin wished they could stay like this forever. He ran his large hands down Sarmenti’s thin back, feeling the notches of his spine, the bumps of his Court scars, the scrapes from -- Baldwin blinked, then peered down Sarmenti’s bowed over body, frowning when he noticed the fresh marks in his back. That must have been from where Baldwin had him pinned to the rocks during their intimacy, and shamefully realized that perhaps he had been too rough with his fool when he came. 

If Sarmenti noticed, he didn’t say anything and instead gave a soft, happy groan when Baldwin splashed some of the hot water down the scrapes. He continued to do so, enjoying the feel of Sarmenti completely lax and calm against him for once, as if in a blissful trance.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you earlier, songbird,” Baldwin muttered softly. 

He had been irate, completely drained and at the end of his patience when Sarmenti had first lured Baldwin away from his comforts, and Baldwin wrapped his arms around him in regret.

Sarmenti merely snorted, then squirmed momentarily in Baldwin’s lap but otherwise seemed unconcerned. His hands were wandering up and down the Leper’s sore oblique muscles, and when he finally spoke, there was amusement in his voice. “For a once-king, you sure complain like an old maid.”

Baldwin laughed then, a sudden sound in their small, intimate, idyllic glen, and he could feel Sarmenti’s automatic smile at it in response. Unable to help himself, and feeling far braver without his mask and bandages than he had ever been before, Baldwin dipped his aching, unexpectedly  _ sensitive  _ hands below the water to run them up Sarmenti’s thighs. His hands settled on Sarmenti’s bony hips and rubbed at the bruises that would surely form there, feeling the delicate parts of his wretched face flush at the memory of what they had done. 

“I’m not complaining  _ now _ , am I?”

His voice was low, as sultry as Baldwin dared to make it, feeling the blush creep from his face to his neck and down further as Sarmenti gave him a playful rasp of their hips, then said, “You wouldn’t dare.”

_ No _ , Baldwin mused to himself; he wouldn’t  _ dare  _ complain with the most precious thing known to him nestled lazily in his arms, running those long fingers across Baldwin’s lively body. 

The sun was setting, and they’d surely have to make camp soon, distribute rations, mind the trap of bells in the distance, sleep with their weapons -- it was still the Hamlet after all, and this could all go terribly wrong by morning, but for now, Baldwin was beyond content. He had his fool cradled in his warmth, their heartbeats pounding together in their bare chests, pressed close, and Baldwin had never felt happier in his recent life. Perhaps even before the leprosy.

“Thank you,” whispered Baldwin, shutting his eyes to the fading day.

Sarmenti snorted and shifted again, as if keeping a secret he was anxious to tell, then eventually explained, “It was Para’s idea, really. After I found these hot springs by accident, she ran her tests and thought the heat and minerals might be good for…”

_ Lepers _ , Baldwin thought for him.

“...Me,” he said instead, knowing full well that Sarmenti had never been bothered by his disease, and let the sentiment touch his heart that the other man was so accommodating. 

“ _ Us,” _ Sarmenti corrected with a huff, wrapping his wiry arms around Baldwin’s torso and squeezing in defiance. Baldwin felt that familiar flood building behind his eyelids, and it was all he could do to smile and close his eyes, wondering just  _ what  _ in his lifetime of bloodshed and holy violence he could have ever done to deserve Sarmenti. “It’s been an entire year you know.” 

It was spoken so softly that Baldwin wondered if his hearing was finally going as well, but a quick recollection made Baldwin realize that -- yes, in fact, it  _ had  _ been exactly a year since the Leper arrived at the Hamlet. Had his fool been counting all this time?

The pull of Baldwin’s heartstrings suddenly became too much to bear alone anymore.

“Will you face me, Sarmenti?”

It was quiet, gentle,  _ afraid _ , and Baldwin felt unfamiliar nerves quickening his pulse that he had only felt months ago, when he had first laid himself open for the other man and again when Sarmenti stripped him so very naked earlier. Sarmenti complied and lifted his head, surprisingly silent with the sober moment that was as heady and tangible as the very steam that surrounded them. It dampened Sarmenti’s hair, sticking it to both their faces with their nearness, and Baldwin was shocked to see an uncovered vulnerability within those dark orbs as they looked up to Baldwin’s. 

“My Light and my stars,” Baldwin spoke, voice like a ballast between just the two of them, and he swallowed before continuing, “Life was a pained existence before you. I often wondered if it was worth it to continue… but over this past year, I…” He paused, mentally chided himself for  _ fearing  _ this, for fearing his fool would find a joke in this and reject Baldwin’s overdue admission. No, he  _ trusted  _ Sarmenti with his entire, wretched,  _ wondrous  _ life and more, and summoned his determination. “I now find that imagining life without you is impossible.”

Whatever soft warmth Baldwin glimpsed in those dark russet eyes was brief as Sarmenti closed them, then shivered but remained silent. It gave Baldwin the courage to continue: “I’ve never felt this way about another, Sarmenti. The way my heart  _ sings  _ for you… It gives me my strength when I am weak. You are a king’s treasure and more, and I would have you with me until the end of my days, if you’d allow it.”

Baldwin was rambling now, he knew, uncharacteristically nervous for Sarmenti’s response if he had one, and at this point was merely talking just to lengthen the time where they lived in a world that Sarmenti hadn’t answered in yet.

Hadn’t laughed or left, hadn’t told Baldwin how very  _ wrong  _ he was to love a fool and hope to be loved in return.

“I stand straighter with you, my beloved wit, even when this body might otherwise fall or break,” and despite knowing that he was rambling, Baldwin couldn’t help but smile when Sarmenti opened his eyes. Couldn’t help but move his large hands, full of life, full of  _ Sarmenti _ , up from the Jester’s hips to his gaunt blushing face, thin bottom lip between his teeth, thinner brows narrowed intensely. Baldwin saw Sarmenti’s usual fire there, his burning passions and endless energy, and Baldwin  _ loved  _ him. 

“You’ve given me my passion for life back, Sarmenti, and I’m so grateful for -- ”

Before Baldwin could finish, Sarmenti leaned forward, ever impatient, ever  _ bold _ , and captured the Leper’s rambling mouth in a kiss. It was hard and demanding, insistent, wanting, something so raw that Baldwin could feel it lanceting his core like an arrow, and he willingly gave in to the kiss. By the time Sarmenti pulled away, Baldwin was breathless again.

There were no other words Baldwin could say, other than the ones he refused to, to describe his flooding fount of feelings for the man in his arms. But Baldwin was afraid to say them, well and truly afraid of overwhelming the clown lest he was careful with his words, until:

“ _ I love you, too _ ,” Sarmenti breathed, voice as soft and vulnerable as when he would sing his ballads, just for the two of them.

And still, Baldwin felt it as if he’d been struck by lightning, Sarmenti’s words echoing like thunder in his mind, his eyes wide with shock and his heart skipping a beat as he met the Jester’s sheepish gaze. The next breath Baldwin took brought tears to his eyes, stinging,  _ blessed  _ tears, and this time Baldwin let them fall down his wretched face freely. He felt foolish as they poured from him; Baldwin hadn’t cried when he had first been informed of his leprosy, hadn’t cried when he had to be parted from his family, hadn’t even cried when he was eventually self-exiled from his beloved city. 

He did weep  _ now _ , though, with his loving fool in his arms, face as red as his motley garbs and eyes as wet as their oasis. Sarmenti leaned in to kiss him again after so easily saying the words Baldwin never would have thought possible -- not for the likes of  _ him _ , anyway -- and Baldwin lost himself to the Jester.

They kissed until the air cooled with the approach of night, bundled within one another, gone from the world as they re-explored each other with renewed passion. By the time they thought to get out and make camp, Baldwin was already aching for Sarmenti once more.

After they started a fire and finished their rations, Baldwin held Sarmenti in his lap once more with the clown’s back to Baldwin’s chest, listening as Sarmenti strummed on his lute.

Baldwin ducked his head as he listened, feeling as if he were the luckiest man in the world, king or fool, to be loved in return so  _ unconditionally _ , and kissed along Sarmenti’s bare neck and cheek while the other hero played. Sarmenti had taken every last fear of Baldwin’s and meticulously unwrapped him, bit by bit, kissing away any shred of doubt the larger man might have. Even now, with Sarmenti bundled against him, plucking away at the strings of his lute, the Jester said the words of Baldwin’s fantasies once more.

“I love you, Baldwin.”

Once more, that harsh mist of tears threatened to overwhelm the larger man, but he merely cuddled close, halting the music as Sarmenti fumbled with the lute in his embarrassment, and whispered against his pale skin, “And I love  _ you _ , Sarmenti.”

The clown fell surprisingly silent again, and any anxiety Baldwin felt at uttering his feelings was dispelled by the obvious flush of Sarmenti’s ears, which Baldwin smiled at. Later in the night, when they fell into the bedsheets, when they came together and came undone for the second time, Baldwin savored those words on Sarmenti’s tongue with his own.

He’d never get tired of this, Baldwin thought to himself in the sheer bliss that followed, their blankets strewn about and Sarmenti tangled against him in ravished exhaustion.

For who could ever love a Leper but for his precious Jester?

Perhaps they were both fools, Baldwin mused as he drifted off to sleep as well.

**Author's Note:**

> Please, PLEASE, bring on the Lester wave, this fandom needs it. These two are just so wonderful to me. Please let me know what you think!


End file.
